Dissection of Desire
by dimension7
Summary: My first Trinity Blood fic, I somehow missed putting up here.  Two brief glimpses into RCO relationships.  Implied yaoi and solo... other things?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.

Note: I avoid multi-chaps, so this is only a two piece. This chapter is from the perspective of Cain.

More faithful than any servant, he knelt before me. I tried to hear what he told me, tried to listen, it had to be of some importance if he thought I should know, yet I found myself too interested in staring at him instead. His hair hung just above the floor, black and soft looking, and his eyes were lowered out of deference. I wondered if he and the terran were lovers, and I was surprised at the little pang of jealousy I felt.

I could simply dispose of Dietrich, and keep Isaak all to myself. Terrans are, after all, prone to accidents.

I snapped out of my reverie when he glanced up at me, respectful as always. I had no idea what he'd said to me, so I merely smiled, and told him that his work was excellent. I dismissed him, and allowed my mind to wander.

Isaak had found me almost twenty years before, a twist of fate, and we had fueled each other, striving to create something that mattered in this world. Rosen Cruez became child of our combined intellect, and with Isaak as a spokes-man, we were able to find more sympathizers than I'd thought likely.

Already, he'd been adept with magic and ancient technology, thus he healed what he could of my body, and rebuilt what ever could not be salvaged. In the nine hundred years of my long life, never had I truly relied on another. Isaak was a strange creature though, his actions and very presence dispelled many of my previous tendencies.

It was almost like… being part of a pair again.

When we'd met, Isaak was seeking a way to cement his damnation, trying to make sure the spot he'd procured in Hell couldn't be lost. He held visions of attaining arch heresy, though his beauty alone could shame the devil.

I was too weak to do anything, my broken body tucked away. When I'd fallen, I burnt in the atmosphere, then crashed into a cave, and there I stayed. Yes, I could have probably managed to leave, but I had been too confused. Every time I woke, I saw Abel, flinging himself at me, and Seth trying to stop him, then hitting the command sequence that sealed my fate. I tried to understand them, how they could betray me thus, how they could love Lilith more than me. These thoughts only brought pain, so I would drift into long and silent sleeps, my dreams dripped with blood, and I imagine that my face bore a smile.

I had no concept of time, and centuries, as their wont, passed. I slept, and woke, and slept again. And then, a new sound awoke me. It was not the scuttling of insects, or the dropping of water, or the wind whistling in the mouth of my cave, but laughter. Mad, outrageous, laughter.

"You want her William, oh, you can have her! She's all yours now! And a long and happy life I wish you two!" Between chuckles, sobs escaped. "Will you surrender quick to obvious hate, filling half eternity with cries and tears, or watch beside Hell's little wicket gate, in patience for the first ten thousand years?" And he collapsed, laughter wholly swallowed by great wracking cries.

From that moment, I was drawn to him. He'd wrapped his arms about himself, and shook back and forth, sometimes muttering, sometimes speaking poetry to himself. He would giggle and swear, and this went on for some time. I'd slowly moved closer, to watch him better, and to smell his blood.

My fangs throbbed, and I imagined ripping his throat out. I hadn't fed since my fall, but I hesitated. I watched as he pulled a silver dagger out of the sack he carried, and fascinated, I watched as he made to stab himself in the stomach. The whole ordeal seemed a terrible waste to me, Methuselah, though longer lived than terrans, still only have a finite span. I told myself that was why I stopped him, though really, it had more to do with his tragic eyes and handsome face.

My movements were clumsy, my legs unsure beneath me. I half lunged-half fell upon him, flicking the dagger away, pulling his arms back, and poising his pale and pulsing throat beneath my lips.

If he'd struggled, or if he'd cried out, I would have killed him, and devoured every bit of him. It was his quiet that stilled me, his resignation to die so horribly, to be nothing more than a meal for something bigger and stronger than he, that endeared me to him immediately. I was fascinated the moment my hands fell upon him.

This did not, however, stop me from biting him. I pierced his throat gently, my lips tight against his flesh so as not to waste a drop. Blood had never been so good, so new. I knew instantly that he was more than just a Methuselah, his essence was a stronger and headier wine than I'd ever known before.

Calmly, he danced his long-fingered hands to mine, clasping me, begging me to take everything away. As his blood pumped into my mouth, I felt myself stiffening, and when he felt me against him he leant into me deeper. I ran my hands down his body now, and he moaned for the first time.

My fingers ripped and shredded his clothing to bits, as I held him against me, stealing his blood. I was losing myself in the act, becoming a god, becoming everything. Only through a haze did I feel the frail body I held shaking, or hear him gasping in death. I dropped him, and looked down at what I'd done. I thought of a butterfly with its wings ripped in half, fluttering on its back.

Isaak, my tragic beauty.

He did not die, I'd expected him to, but he did not. He would come to in a few hours, after I'd stared at him, wanting to touch him again. I didn't though. For the next twenty years, I would wish that I had, I would wonder what would have happened if I did. And in those twenty years, regardless the things we'd gone through, I never would.

Isaak appealed to me, the opposite of Able, all dark. His thin frame would often haunt the corner of my vision, and ghost traces of cigarillo smoke would scent a room. We both knew I'd marked him, that he could never leave, his blood belonged to me now, but it somehow seemed decent that I not force him to do something that would end poorly.

I would stare at Isaak when he spoke to me, imagining him without his tight black suits. I wanted to trace the tattoos and scars he'd given himself, I wanted to know the secrets of his secrets, but somehow, I never did.

I could have though, at any time, and he knew it.

Unfortunately, the effect on my Panzer Magier may have been irreparable, and I pretended that was what stayed my hand, not that I feared he would leave, not that I feared he would finish the job I'd deterred him from so long ago.

And then I'd found Dietrich.

Isaak had been enraged when I'd stuck the terran child with him, he'd actually thrown a proper tantrum. I had thought it was funny then, I'd chided Isaak, telling him how rewarding it would be to raise a child. I hadn't considered the child's inevitable growing up. I hadn't considered that the child would grow into a pretty young man, or that the child was bound to love the one who'd raised it.

Dietrich had always been a recruit, until he became competition.

I could only imagine too well Isaak and Dietrich, their bodies pressed and folded against each other, soft whimpers and excited moans escaping gasping lips.

The thought of them making love, the idea that Isaak could be so close to the terran, how perfectly I pictured their illicit affair in my mind, drew me to clenching my fists tight, my fingernails puncturing my flesh, and my aggression seeping slowly.

Maybe it was time to take more from my beautiful Isaak than just his blood.


	2. Chapter 2

Note: This is as far as it goes, Dietrich's point of view, and done.

I pretended to ignore him, pretended that I could care less about anything he had to say to me. If I'd been too interested, ever, he would have known something was up. I was a little tired, but it was worth it to watch Isaak, he was about to give up on me, and slump his arms, maybe fling his hands in an irritated gesture, then go engross himself in his music.

Isaak had hardly been a father. From the beginning he'd had me demonstrate my puppetry, he'd made up courses and tests, making me practice for hours everyday. He taught me how to kill in more ways, in better ways, but he never taught me to love, because that was something he didn't know. He'd tried, sometimes. If he hadn't been thinking about it, and I'd busted my knee, or something, Isaak would almost act parental, almost like he cared, but a part of him never thawed.

It was the devil in me that made me want him.

I'd never gotten the love a child deserves, and by now I was ready to settle for any love at all. I wanted to see emotion in Isaak's eyes, I wanted to see him feel something about me. I wanted to make him happy.

I slumped into my chair as the organ began to blast away. I began squirming, imagining Isaak's slender hands. There are some things you just don't do.

How could I proposition him? How could I possibly approach the man that had raised me, and expect my fantasy to be enacted? In a moment of misery, I pictured Isaak standing naked in the moonlight, his hair silver looking beneath the sky. I groaned, and had to run to the bathroom.

With the frequency I do this, it never takes very long. In almost eight years, I've watch Isaak so much that I can picture him doing anything, and if it's anything he does, I've seen him do it. I imagine a million things, a thousand things, I picture Isaak, and I want him to love me. My hand runs back and forth, up and down, and I play my own strings. I tangle while I touch myself, every sensation lighting up a pang of guilt.

It is fantasizing about him biting me that does it this time, pushes me over and beyond. I moan and twitch, automatically wiping my hand off, automatically returning to my serious face. I would be too ashamed if Isaak knew I thought of him when I did this, and I worry that if he knew he would throw me out, and I'd be alone in the world again.

Besides, Cain would kill me.

Cain hadn't been around too much in my earlier years, preferring probably to have little to do with a human child. The only times I remember seeing him back then he seemed so impatient, my presence slightly interfered with his time with Isaak, lowering Isaak's full attention span. I could tell that after the first three years, Cain regretted having saved my life, and having allowed me to stay.

I was never much of a son.

I cannot imagine a normal relationship that involves magic and corpse manipulation. I was probably fifteen when I realized that most people would never understand me, could never hope to. That only Isaak listened to my illogical ramblings, not judging. He was the only one I knew that didn't act like I was crazy, the only one who thought about all the ways to kill everyone in the room too.

That was when I started to really fall for him.

After four years, I feel like inside me there is a black stain, and that if Isaak were to touch me finally, to press himself against me, my inner darkness would stick to him like tar, and pull him down and into me, and never let him go. It is an infatuation that could be the end of us both, and I know it.

I sit upside down in my chair, my feet crossed at the head rest, my hair hanging to the floor, and the blood rushing warmly to my ears. Isaak finishes his song, and will move into the next one the same as always, playing the same set over and over, and who knows for how many years before I came.

I wonder what Isaak would do if he found me in his bed in the morning, naked and waiting. Or drunk and in the bath. I've been making up every scenario for years, and I still don't know how to breech the subject. Use my strings and show Isaak what I can really do? Beg?

I sat up quickly, letting the blood rush run through my face, trying to push my feelings down. The organ had stopped playing, and I knew that if I turned Isaak would be standing in the doorway, about to say something about needing to have more candles in here.

I didn't wait for it, I stood up and lit two more, and turned to watch Isaak pick a book. I know he doesn't need the light, I think he wants me to join him, every night when he sits down in here and reads a book, he wishes I would do the same. The study has long been my favorite room because of this nightly ritual; many times have I caught new expressions, and satisfied little noises of Isaak's by watching him read.

I am tempted to sit on his lap, for the first time, nineteen years old. Ask for presents, and take my clothes off. Instead, I scan the rows of books, inhaling as I hear Isaak strike a match, anticipating the thick cigarillo scent to come. I don't find anything I want to read, and I pout, and slouch down on my overstuffed chair in the corner. Isaak glances up at me over his reading glasses, his stare half asking me what I want, and half daring me to make a whiny noise again, and so help me if I do.

"I've read most of these. You've read them all. Four or five times."

"More than that. Go away if you're going to be like that, I'm reading."

"It doesn't count when you already know the next three pages verbatim. Can I have some money?"

He sighed, his quiet angry sigh that was the oldest thing about him I can remember. The sigh that said "Yes, shut up shut up shut up, yes, you can have it, whatever you want, shut up."

Four bills were counted out and set on the desk, Isaak holding one end of them still. "You're going to leave me alone. This should be more than enough to keep yourself entertained for at least two days, so can you go away now?"

I laughed while I snatched the money and headed for the door, but inside I knew I was never going to be anything more than a snotty little rich kid, wanting more than was offered, wanting everything always. Wanting what I could never have.


End file.
